The Worst Guilt
by kittycob
Summary: Set a bit in the future, not really AU except in the fact that it's Trory. Hard to adequately summarize without giving the story away ...summaries are not my skill.... Rating may rise.
1. The Turning Point

**Title:** The Worst Guilt

Chapter 1 The Turning Point

**Rating: **Pg-13 for now, haven't decided exactly where it will go

**Disclaimer**: If I actually owned the show, Luke would not have a long lost daughter.

**Summary**: Tory, not exactly AU, just future fic. And, this _IS NOT _love triangle between Tristan/Logan/Rory in case you get that hint at the beginning. Well, in a way…….ok, I can't explain it exactly, you have to read it. The plot is based VERY loosely on a book I read, so I can't take all the credit.

Oh, and I'm making the corporate centre of the Huntzberger empire in New York.

I so wasn't going to do another Trory after my last fic (which I WILL post on tonight), but this idea called to me. I hope I'm not misreading it as a good idea.

This fic is based on the quote:

_The worst guilt is to accept an unearned guilt._ –Ayn Rand

Thought I'd introduce that now, and then it will become apparent later on why I chose this quote, both in respect to Tristan and Rory.

* * *

There is usually a defining moment in one's life; a time when they know that nothing will ever be the same again. It can be so tremendous, so utterly clear, that the person knows without a doubt that their world can never go back to the way it was. It can be like getting the wind knocked out of you when it's that staggering. Of course for Tristan DuGrey it didn't happen like that. For him there was no single moment of blinding clarity, but all the same his world changed that day. 

The day Rory Gilmore started at Chilton.

Of course he hadn't realized the kick in the solar plexus for what it was the first time he saw her. He disguised his feelings in undeserving taunts, annoying nicknames, and other general irritating gestures. He didn't recognize his feelings for what they were, but if even he had, he probably would have reacted in about the same way. It was just who he was, the stud of Chilton, not some love-sick puppy. But nothing changed the fact that deep down he had fallen in love with Rory Gilmore.

He never admitted it, in fact he never really knew it, but when he left that day for military school in North Carolina he left a part of himself with her. And even the separation didn't turn him into that sappy fool. In truth he thought of her rarely, never more than a fleeting pass through his mind when there was something that reminded him of her, but she was still there underneath everything.

He finished high school in North Carolina, did his undergrad at state school there, trying to save money as his family invested little in him now, essentially disowning him for his many indiscretions, and then enrolled at Yale to do his MBA, determined to make it no matter what it took. And it was there that he ran into an old friend from his younger days, Logan Huntzberger. And, through him, got re-associated with the girl from his past that he had never quite fully forgotten.

He had become reacquainted with her rapier wit, sharpened with age. He had watched as she lost the frailness of her youth, and became a desirable woman. He had been awed once again by her intelligence, her dedication. In short, he fell in love for real this time. And unfortunately, this time he knew it.

It was ironic that after his multitude of girlfriends, his days of hopping from bed to bed, that he would fall hard for the one girl he couldn't have. The one girl he wouldn't let himself have. He had fancied himself in love before, but it didn't really mean anything. It was just him trying to inject something that wasn't there into a relationship that was just one of many.

In the long run, he knew it wouldn't matter. She didn't love him. She had forgiven his past immaturity, even formed a friendship with him, but that was it, because she was in love with somebody else. Logan, his once acquaintance who became his best friend, was apparently the fucking love of her life.

He was the best man at their wedding, but there was no bitterness, no regrets. Logan was the better man; he always had been and always would be. He could remember befriending Logan as a child; he was the golden boy, the charming one, the apple of everyone but his father's eye. And, he loved Rory; Tristan could see it in every moment they spent together. So, he was happy for them, but that that undercurrent was always there, ready to torment him if he let it.

He went to work for Mitchum Huntzberger's company, second only to Logan in the hierarchy. Mitchum had been so grateful to him for getting Logan to see the light and accompany him to business school that he had subsidized his education, and offered Tristan a job straight out of university. One didn't turn down Chief Financial Officer of a major corporation as a first job, or a last one for that matter. He knew he would never be CEO, that was Logan's domain, but he didn't need that. And, when Mitchum had died of a heart attack not a year after they were done school, he was glad he could be there for Logan who, despite being groomed for this since birth, suddenly found himself overwhelmed being at the helm of a multinational corporation.

Rory had a steady job working at the _New York Post_, satisfied with writing for the financial section for now, even though they all knew she wanted a different beat. But she wasn't Logan, it all wasn't handed to her on a silver platter, and she had to take what she could get.

They were all close friends, there for each other through the good and the bad. And it was easy to be around them, even though at first he thought it might be hard. Because even with their devotion to each other evident every day, and his feelings, he didn't feel like a perpetual third wheel. Because he loved them both, they became his family.

Tristan continued his multitude of relationships, never settling on just one. He maintained his role of master seducer, after all it was one he played to the hilt. He didn't play any of them false except that sometimes when he closed his eyes it wasn't their face he saw, but someone else's entirely, someone he would never have. But he never took it past that, there was never any slip calling out her name in climax, never any hint to anyone else at how he felt.

He had been accused of doing many things in his life, some lies, but many more of them were true. But now, he was in love with his best friend's wife. Logan, the first true friend he had in long time, whose family had helped him through school and given him a job when his own father barely acknowledged his existence. This went beyond his little immature pranks of the past, even the time he had indulged in a little B & E with some friends, this was much worse. It was like a commandment or something: _don't lust after your best friend's wife_, it must be written down somewhere. So he went out of his way to be the best friend to Logan he could be, as if to compensate.

He knew he couldn't have her, would never have her, and he accepted that fact.

But, as he sat at the table, watching her stare adoringly into Logan's eyes, he realized what he could have. Another drink.

As he motioned to the waiter for another beer, Rory broke her eyes away from Logan and turned to him, while resting her fingers on her husband's shoulder and taking a sip of her own drink. "Mmmm," she smiled as she sipped the fruity drink. Only she could get away with ordering something so pink and girly as a margarita in a bar like this.

It wasn't the first time they had been here, often they stopped off here after work to let loose a little, or went back to Rory and Logan's house when they weren't in the mood for the loud music or the game on the bar television.

"What do you think Tristan?" Rory asked him, going back to the argument she and Logan had been having earlier.

"It's not _my_ anniversary," he reminded her. She and Logan had been arguing about what to do for their second anniversary. Logan wanted to spend a ridiculous amount of money going on a tour of Europe, and Rory just wanted a weekend at their apartment with the phone unplugged and no computer access allowed.

"Trust me, I'm well aware of who I married," her voice was almost like a purr as she pecked Logan on the cheek, or maybe that was just his imagination. As immune to her as he liked to pretend to be, he began to wish desperately for that beer to appear in front of him.

"I'm hardly one to ask," he kept his voice light, "Now, if you want advice on how to have sex in an airplane washroom…." It was something he did often, maintain this role of playboy, often to the point of crudeness. Secure in this role, it often made them avoid any of the more sentimental subjects with him. Logan never once asked his advice on birthday presents for Rory, or talked about their emotional issues.

And Rory laughed, like she always did. As much as she tried to change him, as much as she tried to get him to find the marriage she and Logan had, he knew it was easier for her to see him in the same role she had in high school; God's gift to women. It helped him avoid the blind dates he knew she'd set him up for otherwise. She would never set him up with someone she deemed truly worthy when he was likely just to break their heart.

"We worry about you, you know," she told him archly, leaning back against her husband's chest. And, as always, it was the _we_ that killed him. Not _I_, not _Logan_, but _we_. As in, them, as a single unit, apart from all else. "Your love life," she added, as if clarification were necessary.

But even as he cursed the pronoun, he raised his eyebrow at Logan, "_You_ are worried about my love life?"

His friend shrugged, "I've been informed that I am," he quipped back, causing his wife to elbow him playfully in the chest.

"We," she began with that cursed word again, her tone taking on that morally superior tone that he both loved and hated, "Think that you need to find a proper girlfriend. As nice as all that sex must be….."

"I don't think 'nice' is quite the right word," he told Logan quietly with a smile, earning himself a sharp glare from Rory as she continued, "…you get to have sex with a girlfriend too, you know. Lots of it, if you find the right girl. And, now I know this is a novel concept to you, there might be some emotion involved too."

It hurt a little, every time she belittled his ability to care about anyone, but he knew this was what he projected, what he wanted them to see. Because then neither of them would catch on to his true feelings. "But I just haven't met that 'special someone'," he made his reply in the most falsetto voice he could manage, getting Logan to laugh at the feminine tone and Rory to glare at him in annoyance.

"Listen," she began, but Logan cut her off.

"Give it a rest Rory," he told her firmly, kissing her lips. "Tristan's a grown man, he'll live his life how he sees fit. Keep in mind Ace, if I'd never met you, I'd still be hopping from bed to bed all over the Yale campus. Monogamy isn't for everyone the same way it is for you."

And the kicker was, monogamy was Tristan's thing. Even in high school, with his reputation as a stud, more often than not he found himself in a permanent relationship because he wanted more than the one night stand. Summer had been the perfect example of that, him trying to pretend at something that wasn't there just so there could be a 'girlfriend' in his life.

He was grateful when Rory gave up the 'reform Tristan' idea that she got in her head every so often, and continued on to another subject. "Feel like a movie tonight?" she asked the two of them. "I have no deadline for another couple days, and I haven't been to see anything in such a long time."

"I have to go back to the office," Logan told her regretfully, "I just took a break to come meet you guys. My assistant dumped a lot of stuff on me at the end of today and I have to keep up if I want to have any time free this weekend."

Rory wasn't the type who pouted, but Tristan could tell she was fairly displeased at his news. With taking over the company, more and more Logan was abandoning her in the evenings for work. Tristan worked there too, he knew how much Logan really had to do, but he also knew that Rory hated how her husband was killing himself with his job. "Do you really have to go in tonight?" her words were soft, but they could both hear her displeasure.

"Sorry," Logan told her regretfully, even as he took her hand in his and kissed her palm. Tristan had to look away, feeling like he was intruding in their tender moment. But Logan continued, "You should go with Tristan Rory, and I swear I'll be home by the time you get back."

The ultimate proof Logan had no idea how Tristan felt about his wife.

She shook her head slightly before turning to Tristan, "How 'bout it? Willing to forego your flavour of the week for the company if an old married lady?" And he nodded.

If only she knew.

Like always, he would never turn down an hour in her presence, let alone some time of her alone. Because her presence was all he was going to get; the joking, the camaraderie. There would be no declaration of love, no desperate kisses, no (what he was sure he would be fantastic) sex; in short, no relationship beyond these scraps that he got as her husband's best friend.

And as pathetic as he was, he would take it.

"Why don't we pick you up at the office after the movie's done?" Rory turned back to her husband, knowing he had taken a driver in this morning rather than drive himself. Tristan who lived just a block from the office walked to work. Rory was the only one who had her car tonight.

He nodded his assent as Rory kissed him on the cheek and slid out of the booth where they were sitting across from Tristan. Before sliding out, he looked over at Logan, "Anything you need help with back at the office?" That company, that conglomerate, it was his job too.

Logan gave a sharp bark of bitter laughter, "No, unfortunately it's all stuff that falls on me." As much as Logan was meant for the business world, Tristan knew that every day he resented the role his father had thrown on him, both before his death and after. He took the job seriously, often too seriously, but he hadn't been ready for this much responsibility, this fast.

"Be ready to go when we get there," Rory warned her husband sternly, as Tristan slipped into his jacket. "You need some time off and sleep Logan, this hour break isn't enough. I'll drag you out of there if I have too."

"I'll work fast," Logan promised, squeezing her hand as he turned to go. "I wish I was coming with you guys."

"Me too," Rory told him, giving him one last kiss before she and Tristan turned to go. It shouldn't be so hard for him to watch; after all they were often disgustingly, at least as it seemed to him, affectionate.

* * *

They walked the short distance to Rory's car in companionable silence. She had parked close to the bar, expecting to be leaving with her husband from there. As they approached the vehicle she pulled out the keychain and hit the little button to unlock it. A 2005 Mustang, it was a step up from her old car. As much as she didn't need the Huntzberger fortune, and didn't want it, this car was her one indulgence. 

As she got into the car, she looked across at the man sliding into the passenger seat across from her. Tristan DuGrey; sometimes it still shocked her that he was in any way part of her life, and such an integral part.

He was Logan's closest friend and confident, sometimes even more so than her. As soon as he had come to Yale, he and Logan had taken up again, and once Logan decided to buckle down about school and went into business school as well, they had become even closer. As much as she knew Logan had fun with Finn and Colin, they weren't exactly suited for the grown up world he found himself actually a part of. They were left behind as mere casual acquaintances, and in Tristan he found someone akin to himself. In terms of real friendship, he was the closest friend Logan had ever had, and over time he became her friend as well.

In many ways he was still the stud he was in high school, but the maliciousness and recklessness that were once a part of him were gone. He may sleep with a different girl every weekend, but that wasn't the essence of his life. He took his job seriously, and he was a loyal friend despite everything else.

Sometimes she wondered how he stayed so close with Logan, their lives so different in so many ways while seeming inherently the same. He had screwed up, and it had essentially cost him his family. Anything he had achieved was through sheer hard work, and help from Logan's father. He had a good job, true, but it must be hard to walk in there day in and day out knowing that he would never be more than that. That he would always be second to Logan, the boy who had the world handed to him on a silver platter and he didn't even want it. Logan, who had fucked up repeatedly, never taken his future seriously, but while never having his father's affection would always have his legacy.

As much as she respected her husband, sometimes she thought that that had to burn just a little.

"Any movie you were specifically wanting to see?" he asked the question as she pulled away from the curb.

She shrugged, "I'm easy. We'll decide when we get there." It was her, there was no pun intended on the first statement, but she saw him grin at it none the less.

"How's work?" he asked the question, knowing she was always too happy to bitch about her editor or some idiot co-worker. Even as she used her maiden name in all things work related, her marriage to the Huntzberger heir wasn't exactly a secret, and it made for a bunch of ribbing at work.

She shrugged, "Just paying my dues." And that's what her current assignment really was about. As much as she had a head for finances, it wasn't her passion. Somehow a report on the Dow Jones wouldn't get her on a plane to the Middle East. But everyone had to start out somewhere. After all, it could have been worse, she could have been stuck working the lifestyle section.

She loved her husband, but wasn't about to go work at one of the many newspaper's controlled by Mitchum's empire. She had made it on her own this far, despite the bastard's meddling, and she had her pride to think about. Her successes weren't going to be because of whom she was married to, but about what she could do.

"Jordan's actually been half-human recently," she told him innocently, gauging his reaction. Jordan Haskins was her editor over at the Times, and probably one of the biggest pricks in the world. He had hit on her repeatedly, given her little more to cover than stock prices when she refused to have sex with him, and leered constantly whenever she entered a room. At least, he had in the past. Tristan had been her sounding board for her complaints about her boss. She knew if she had told Logan he would have crushed the man like a bug, and despite Jordan being a dick she would never get a decent job once word got around.

Of course soon after she had complained to Tristan about him, Jordan had undergone a complete metamorphosis. He was still a dick, there was no doubting that, but she had been given better pieces to cover, and her breasts had gone un-ogled for at least a week. It was tempting to chalk it up to the man finding religion, but she somehow thought the more likely explanation was sitting beside her. An outcome she hadn't expected when she had unloaded her frustrations at him

It was tempting to be angry with him, meddling in her personal affairs, but in truth she was grateful. If it had truly been him, he had managed to do what her filing a sexual harassment suit and Logan destroying the man wouldn't have. It was hard not to be thankful for that as either of the two latter solutions would have compromised her ability to work.

"I find that hard to believe," his drawl was not indicative of any culpability he might have had in the ass's sudden turnaround, but he shot her a smile as if he knew what she was suspecting, and she just shook her head.

"You should come for dinner on Saturday," she moved on to a new topic, "Mom and Luke are coming up for the weekend." Her mother loved Tristan; rather, she had fun with his glib compliments and the fact he was one of the few who could keep up with her rapid banter.

"You cooking?" it was an old joke, despite the fact they were all well aware of the fact that despite Rory refusing to let Logan hire a cook, they lived almost exclusively on take-out as a necessity.

"You'd come anyway," she refused to answer, pretending to be insulted by the lack of respect for her culinary skills.

"True," he acknowledged with a nod, "But I'd like to know if I have to eat dinner _before_ I come." And he laughed as she, even at the mature age of 24, stuck out her tongue in retaliation.

* * *

It was three hours later before they returned from the movie. And, since it was downtown New York, they found themselves parking a few blocks from the office. 

"Talk to you tomorrow?" Rory asked as she pulled the key out of the ignition. "I'm supposed to do lunch with Logan tomorrow, that's if he can drag himself away from the desk for that long." She just assumed that he would be going up to his apartment, he lived just a block away, located conveniently close to work.

"I'll walk with you," was he replied as he slid out of the car. He knew that she would realize what he was doing. Often she cursed his overprotective nature, but unlike Logan he was well aware of the risks she tended to take, and he refused to relent when he was there. No matter how much she wanted to live like this was Stars Hollow, this was downtown New York and a single young female wandering around by herself late at night was easy prey. She took no steps to protect herself, so he would accompany her just for the sake of safety in numbers.

She made a face, but didn't argue. It was nice to have the company.

As they walked down the street, he couldn't help but notice any time their hands accidentally brushed. She didn't think anything of it, why should she, but it was torture to him. Just like it had been every time that their hands had accidentally reached for popcorn at the same time during the movie, or every time he caught whiff of her perfume.

"So, who was the lucky lady this week?" she turned her attention to his sexual exploits. It was like a running bit with her. As much as she pretended to disapprove, he knew the stories he provided gave her amusement, even if it wasn't as much as it did Logan, and even if they weren't always quite the truth.

"I'm afraid I've lived as chastely as a priest this week," pretending it didn't effect him when she hooked her arm through his.

She snorted, and he hated the derision in the sound. "You? Doubtful."

"It's only Tuesday," he tried to keep his tone light. It wasn't as if they had never had this conversation before, but today it seemed to grate on him more.

"Even if you excluded Sunday," she shot him a look that suggested she doubted there was any reason too, "That still leaves Monday."

"Not this Monday," he tried to smile.

She laughed, and while he usually loved the sound of her laugh, this time he did not, "I'm sure I saw you awake for at least an hour yesterday."

He forced himself to smile and gave the requisite laugh in return. "I plan to make it up this weekend," he hoped his voice sounded as sultry as he planned.

"Don't forget my mother is coming for dinner on Saturday," she admonished, even as she pulled away slightly to begin digging around in her purse for her security pass to enter the Huntzberger building.

"Who did you think I planned to make up for lost time with?" and as he wiggled his eyebrows she laughed again.

"Luke might have something to say about that," she grinned as the approached the doors of the building.

Again, he allowed himself the momentary wish that she could be his. There was none of this easy banter with his other dates, there was none of this overwhelming desire. It was true he was attracted to every woman he ever dated, but it wasn't the same. It paled in comparison. Even if they were bright and intelligent with bodies built for sin, there somehow seemed to be something missing. Something that he found in her. He would fantasize about it more often, if it didn't mean that somehow it would require removing Logan from the picture, something that wouldn't happen; something that shouldn't happen.

There was the lone security guard sitting inside the glass lobby doors of the building, monitoring surveillance videos diligently. But it wasn't that which caught Tristan's eye and caused him to pause momentarily, and he watched even as Rory noticed his distraction and looked to see what he was staring at.

She had already taken the first steps towards the alleyby the time that he started to move after her. Peeking out from the alleyway not far from them was a pair of feet. Still, and unmoving, and not that noticeable to the average passer-by.

He was standing there, utterly uselessly, even as he watched in horror as Rory fell to her knees and cradled Logan's bloody body against her chest.

* * *

_Ah a new fic, when inspiration is fresh and you're willing to stay up until all hours of the night to finish the chapter. (on that note: almost about to post on What Lies Within Us, but was too influenced to finish this first). _

_Hopefully, worth continuing. (sorry, that should have been a '?' instead of a period)._


	2. One is the loneliest number

**Title:** The Worst Guilt

Chapter 2: One is the loneliest number

**Rating: **Pg-13 for now, haven't decided exactly where it will go

**Disclaimer**: If I actually owned the show, Luke would not have a long lost daughter.

**Summary**: Tory, not exactly AU, just future fic. Not a triangle fic. The plot is based VERY loosely on a book I read, so I can't take all the credit. Oh, and I'm making the corporate centre of the Huntzberger empire in New York.

_A/N1 for plot points: see end of chapter._

_A/N2: Thank you so much for the reviews. I don't expect that many every time, although it would be nice, and it's very encouraging. (it makes me want to write more immediately actually). Many were in two camps (1-I hate Logan, 2-I love Logan). And sorry, this is not going to be a Rory/Logan fic. Between finals and finishing up my last story What Lies Within Us, this chapter was a little long in coming. It was written tonight on my coffee/sugar induced high before I go crash for a couple hours before studying._

* * *

The moment they found Logan's body should have been the most shocking, clear event that happened. Instead, Tristan found himself standing there as if in a daze, just staring uselessly as Rory cradled Logan in her arms. He wasn't really seeing Logan, he couldn't bring himself to think of _that_ as Logan, he was just focused on all the blood. It flowed out around them, soaking Rory's shirt, staining the dirty ground. 

"Wake up Logan," Rory was pleading with him, begging him to come back to her. He could see the tears creeping down her face, not even caring as a smear of blood got on her cheek when she swiped at it with her hand. "Wake up! For God's sake Tristan, wake him up!"

Maybe it was hearing his name that forced him into some sort of action. It still felt as if he was just going through the motions, as if he was observing this from afar. But even as he grabbed his cell phone to call 911, he could tell it was too late. He couldn't see Logan's face, feel for the lack of pulse, but he knew; Logan was gone. He could feel the world slipping away because even as he talked to the emergency operator he _knew._ Nothing that they could do would make a difference.

As he snapped shut the phone he fell to his knees on the ground beside the couple, not caring that the blood and the dirt were ruining his pants. His limbs felt odd and freakishly sluggish. Rory was sobbing now, her pleas to Logan incoherent, but yet clear in their meaning.

"He's gone Rory," he said the words softly, resting a hand on her shoulder, cringing when she wrenched away from him, refusing to let Logan go.

"No, he's going to be fine," her words were desperate, but even he could see the lack of conviction.

He couldn't bring himself to repeat the words because he didn't want to believe them either. He didn't want to accept it as fact any more than she did. Logan was his best friend, his family, and he was gone. He was numb, oblivious to the blood soaking his pants and the cold night air. "He's going to be fine," he could hear the mantra Rory was repeating firmly, even as they heard the sound of sirens fill the air. "He's going to be fine."

But even as they sat there, he could see the fight leave her, and she seemed to collapse on herself, barely supporting Logan's body with her arms. He wanted to say something to make it all better, but there were nothing he could do or say in this moment that would change the reality that lay before them. He wanted to comfort her, but at that moment he felt as devastated and confused as she was.

She raised her eyes to his, even as she let Logan shift slightly in her grasp. "He was just going to the office," her voice not more than a whimper, "He was just going into work, like he does every day, there was nothing different." She searched his face, looking for answers he would never be able to give her.

"I know," was all he could say helplessly as he looked at the broken woman before him.

She pressed her lips softly to Logan's forehead and brushed back his blonde locks, "I don't understand," her words were soft, not meant for him.

There was nothing to understand; nothing that could make sense of this moment. Nothing in their twenty four years on earth could prepare them for this. No action could change it; there were no words to explain it. All Tristan could think was _why?_ as he looked at the body of his best friend.

They sat there in silence, both contemplating the question that had no answer, as they waited for the ambulance.

* * *

Tristan and Rory sat in Logan's study, not saying anything, just staring at each other. They were the only two in the room, the man who had served at the Huntzberger family's lawyer had just left. Logan hadn't been dead more than four days, but in this world they weren't allowed to grieve, not when there were millions at stake and a multinational corporation. 

In the end it had all been decidedly simple. Nearly all of Logan's assets that weren't already held jointly were left to Rory as his wife, save for a large sum left to Tristan and a few smaller bequests for family members; it came as a shock to nobody. Hearing that, Rory had wept more than she had that morning at Logan's funeral. She could have his money, his possessions, everything he had ever owned, but she couldn't have him.

The only thing that had come as a surprise was the very reason Tristan had been requested to be at the reading of the will. Logan's company, the very one that had been founded by his father with the understanding that it be a family company, had been left to two people not born a Huntzberger. He had split his stock 50/50 between Tristan and Rory, giving them both controlling interests, leaving explicit instructions that Tristan was to step in as CEO in the event anything happened to him. There was nobody else he trusted enough to do so, and Rory was busy with her own career.

Even now with the will reading complete, and the lawyer gone, Tristan couldn't bring himself to rise from the chair he sat in. He had never expected this outcome, never expected to be put in charge. There was always the express understanding he would be second to Logan. They were young, he had never thought something might happen to change the situation. He hadn't wanted this, had he?

He had never begrudged Logan the good fortune that seemed to just fall his way. He had never coveted the money, the job or the power.

He had merely coveted his wife.

He'd wanted Rory. That was all. But not at this cost. He would never have even imagined it at this cost.

Now he was expected to step right into Logan's shoes. To be at the helm of his company, live the life his best friend was supposed to live. The guilt had started eating him alive from the minute the lawyer had made the announcement.

Had he somehow wished for this? No, he couldn't have. He hadn't.

Had he?

"Tristan?" he heard Rory's voice cutting into his self loathing, and he looked up in surprise, having forgotten for probably the first time in their history that she was even in the room with him.

"You'll do an amazing job." Her words were filled with tears, but sincere none the less. At least she hadn't offered her congratulations.

He didn't want to be the head of the fucking company. All he wanted was his best friend back, the man who was the closest thing to family that he had. But nobody seemed to understand that, except maybe Rory. But she was so wrapped up in her own grief that it seemed selfish to even think of his own.

He could remember bringing her home after the hospital, after all had been done that they could do that night. She had refused to go in the house by herself, the home that had been hers and Logan's. So he took her to his apartment, where she had collapsed on his bed into a deep slumber. He hadn't even tried to feign sleep on the couch, knowing it would evade him all night, so instead he had sat in the chair beside the bed, watching over her in case she came to and needed something in the middle of the night.

When Lorelai's flight had arrived the next morning, he had been infinitely grateful.

"Thank you," he finally said not knowing how else to respond.

How had it come to this? Logan had been in his mid-twenties, the picture of health. Nobody could fathom a death a death like this occurring. He was shocked that Logan had been prepared for this eventuality, having prepared his will, but he supposed when there was that much at stake one had to think ahead. Even when the next day came after Logan's death, they had both been prepared to deal with the details; the problem was that they barely knew what those details were. They were young, they never contemplated their own mortality and had never prepared. Death was a complicated enough issue as it was; when one was a Huntzberger the lawyers got involved too.

"I should go make sure everything is ready for everyone coming over," After the funeral that morning, the other mourners were coming over to the house for a reception of sorts. He watched as she absent-mindedly smoothed her black dress as she stood, her breath hitching. But she didn't leave, just stood there with a lost look on her face.

"It's taken care of," Tristan made his voice gentle. "Your mom and grandmother, Luke, the catering company, it's all under control. You don't have to do anything."

She wore the hollow look she had been wearing for most of the past couple days. It tore at him more than her weeping had ever done. "Nobody will be getting here for a couple hours," he added, "Go have a nap Rory, you need to rest." He himself hadn't slept more than a few fitful hours since that night.

"I can't," she replied firmly. "I need to…..if I stop, even for a moment, I will….." she trailed off desperately and he knew. She had to stay busy because if she stopped the reality of it all would come flooding back. But she looked pale, almost deathly pale, and looked younger than her 24 years. Certainly too young to be faced with this; widowhood.

He wanted to walk over to her, comfort her, but he couldn't make himself do it. It shouldn't have been a problem, they had hugged repeatedly over the years, a constant of their friendship. And, even with his feelings, it had never seemed inappropriate. But now every thought he had of her, every instinct to help her even in friendship, seemed sinister and wrong, like he was stabbing Logan in the back. He couldn't even bring himself to even put a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know what to do," Rory's voice was hoarse, and he knew she wasn't just talking about facing the guests of the next couple hours.

And the problem was, he didn't either.

* * *

The next month was the worst of Rory's life, but that was to be expected. 

She had taken a leave of absence from work. There was no point in going back immediately following the funeral. She couldn't concentrate on anything, let alone financial reports. She didn't care if her boss wouldn't let her come back, she couldn't be there at this point.

"You look like shit," her mothers words were blunt as she entered the living room where Rory sat, pretending to read as she just stared into the fireplace. She was staying with Rory for the time being, afraid to leave her alone. Not because she was afraid she would harm herself, but because she was afraid her daughter would get bogged down in the grief with nobody in New York there for her. Luke couldn't stay permanently, but he came down often, and she knew every time he wished his wife would come home with him.

In a way, that was what Rory wanted to do, wallow in her grief; she had been decidedly numb since the day of the funeral. Although her grief and fears were guiding her every action, they seemed like somebody else's emotions, not a part of her. She wanted to stay there, in the house that still smelled of him.

She had initially assumed that Logan's presence would quickly fade from the house, especially with her mother moving in. And maybe it had in some ways. Logan would certainly never have read _Bridget Jones' Diary_, which her mother had left lying on the coffee table. But despite the few tangible differences that came with her mother's presence, the house was inherently the same, and she couldn't shake the reminders of him. She didn't want to.

Half their bathroom counter still held his toiletry items, the closet still held his clothes. His alarm clock still rang at its pre-programmed time every morning. The book he was reading prior to his death still lay on the bedside table, the bookmark noting where he had left off. The scent of his aftershave, which she had always teased him for over-applying, still seemed to linger in the air. Half the time now she showered with his Zest soap rather than her normal body wash, just to remind her of him. All these things she knew she should give up, and clean out, but she didn't feel equipped to deal with wiping him out of her life just yet. And nobody entered the bedroom but herself, so nobody noticed. The rest of the house was theirs, but it was large and rather impersonal, decorated by an interior designer. The bedroom had been theirs.

Tristan, the only person to whom Logan had meant nearly as much to as he had to her, seemed to have drifted away. He came around occasionally, politeness and business issues demanded it, but he wasn't _there_ in the same way he had been before. She wanted some of the normalcy back, but it seemed she couldn't even have that with him anymore.

He was hurting too; she had to remind herself of it every time he avoided her gaze and talked of nothing but pleasantries. But she missed her friend who she had been able to talk to, to tease, to care about. She'd lost Logan in the worst way possible, and now it seemed she'd even lost her closest friend. Even with her mother hovering over her, who she loved more than anything in the world, she just felt so lonely. Nobody had ever thought to tell her how sad she'd be, but really, who would even know? It was indescribable until you experienced it. And, her mother with all her good intentions, couldn't be expected to understand.

She wanted Tristan to come. She wanted him to come, and finally talk to her. Her mother was amazing, but she wasn't what she needed right now. Her mother hadn't even _liked_ Logan. Oh, she'd hid it well enough after they'd announced their engagement, but Rory always knew. She knew her mother. Tristan was the only one who had known Logan as well as she had. He was her last link to her husband, and she hated that he was depriving her of it when she was content to wallow in everything else holding her to Logan.

"I have a flight booked next Thursday," Lorelai tried to keep her tone businesslike, and Rory looked up in surprise.

"You're leaving?" she asked quietly. She had known her mother wouldn't stay forever, but it had been nice having her here, having the company. It had been nice to have someone to take care of everything when she couldn't.

"I have to get back to the inn," Lorelai tried to keep the note of apology out of her voice, even though the sentiment was there. "And Luke…."

Rory just nodded, trying to force up and expression of at least an understanding smile. "You don't have to explain mom, you have a life you have to get back to."

"_You're_ my life, kiddo," Lorelai's words were serious, as she stroked her daughter's hair as if she were a child. "If I could change any of this, I would. If I could do anything, I would……"she trailed off, frustrated by her helplessness. "You going to be okay?"

Rory fought the urge to laugh hysterically at the question.

* * *

The next month, Tristan was certain, was the closest thing to hell one could experience on earth. 

With every official document he signed, with every executive decision he made, it seemed Logan's memory was being pushed further and further away. He hadn't moved into Logan's office, despite it being the biggest and best, and apparently now his. It was one road that he couldn't bring himself to cross. Every time Logan's assistant briefed him on some important piece of business he should be aware of, he wanted to scream.

At the rate everyone was going, soon Logan would be a distant memory, barely a presence in anyone's minds. His assistant kept pressuring him to take up residence in Logan's office as everything had been filed away in there, and it would be expected when he met with clients or held meetings. But even as he understood the logic for it, he just couldn't do it. He couldn't take everything that had once been Logan's more than he already was.

He threw himself into work, hoping it would take away some of the pain, but it didn't help. After all, his job had been Logan's.

He couldn't even bring himself to depend on Rory, and he knew she didn't understand his avoidance of her. He'd thought that his grief over Logan would overtake the feelings he had for her, but that had been shot to hell. He still felt that pain of longing every time he saw her, that little tug every time she walked into a room. Except now it was wrapped in even more guilt than it had been before because Logan was _dead_, and that made it all the worse.

He should be comforting her, not lusting after her, and his feelings, even though they were no different than they had been a few weeks ago, made him feel like a perverted monster. He didn't physically avoid her, he couldn't-not with all the legalities of the business between them, but he avoided the conversations he knew she wanted to have.

Throwing himself into work had its side benefits. He couldn't be the type of friend to her that she deserved, but he could make sure the company that she owned half of was running profitably. It may be weak, but he couldn't be her close friend and confidante again, at least not yet.

He looked up at the knock on the door. His secretary Glenda poked her head in. "You have a visitor," she informed him, then added, "Mrs. Huntzberger."

A stream of unrepeatable curses ran through his head, but he didn't utter any of them. Rory had rarely come to the main offices before, even when Logan was alive, and not at all since his death, but the staff all knew who she was. "Send her in Glenda," he replied, summoning a tired smile.

"Rory," he stood and greeted her as she came in the door. She looked horrible, more haggard than he had ever seen her. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you," she replied pointedly, her unspoken message passing between them: _you've been avoiding me_.

He didn't know how to respond to that, so he simply sat down behind his large and imposing desk as she flopped down in one of the visitor's chairs.

"I miss you," the words were blunt and shocked the hell out of him.

He didn't know how to respond, but somehow he felt that saying the wrong thing (and whatever he could think of would certainly be the wrong thing) would be worse than saying nothing, so he kept silence, simply gaping at her.

"You were our friend," her voice was almost accusing, "Mine and Logan's. Outside of my husband, and my mother who lives really far away, you became my closest friend in the world. And I don't even know who you are anymore."

She stopped, and then doggedly continued, "Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not," he replied, both of them knowing it was a blatant lie. But it's not like he would ever tell her the truth.

He could see a few errant tears escape her eyes before she hastily wiped them away, "You were supposed to be _my_ friend too, at least I thought you were."

At that he felt almost as bad as he had the night Logan died, "Rory, don't….."

But she just continued on, "With all this, you were the one I want to talk to, you were the only one who I thought could make any sense out of this madness. I have my mother, and I love her, but she didn't know Logan, you did. She doesn't understand, not the way I thought you would. It's just…..I'm so angry and sad all at once, and so utterly confused, and all I can think of is why aren't you?"

"Don't you ever say that," there was no heat in his anger, but it was there all the same.

"Well why don't you fucking show it?" as much as Rory was no longer the innocent she had been in high school, the screeching profanity was out of character. And he knew that she meant, why didn't he show it with her? They were the only two people on earth, outside of Logan's sister, who really cared that _he_ was dead. There were others who deigned to notice the Huntzberger heir had passed, as evidenced by his funeral, but none who really grieved him.

He didn't respond to her outburst, just watched as she got herself back under control.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come," her half hearted apology was mumbled, and she unsteadily got to her feet.

Unable to help himself he leaned across the desk and rested his hand on hers before she could walk away, "Rory, don't." It was the most comfort he had offered her in this whole nightmare.

She didn't leave, but she didn't sit down. She didn't fully comprehend what she really wanted from him, but wasn't sure knowing would make this all any easier. She just half stood there, her hand resting underneath his larger one, and it all came pouring out. "I just…..I don't know what to do anymore…and I'm so angry, and so alone, and I don't know what to do about it."

He had nothing to offer her as placation, but she continued on, "I just don't know why this is happening. What did I ever do? What did Logan ever do?" And then she uttered the selfish thoughts that had been keeping her up late at night. "It isn't fair. It isn't fair that this is happening to me, and not somebody else, it isn't fair that anyone should have to go through this. But I don't understand why it's me. What did I do?"

"Nothing," he let the word out softly as she began to sob, and he got out from behind his desk and walked around to her, letting his hand rest on her shoulder as she got it all out. "I'm so sorry," was all he could say.

"That doesn't fix it," she sobbed.

"I know," as he half-heartedly patted her back, not sure what else to do.

"How do we fix this?" she asked, wanting him to have some sort of answer.

He never answered the question, and afterwards he wished he had, because then he might have said the wrong thing, like he was renowned for, because then maybe she wouldn't have thrown herself into his arms like she did just then. It was nothing, a plea for comfort, but the physical contact threw him into a tailspin like nothing else could.

As for Rory, the hug was just that, for comfort, for the both of them. But it didn't help that his arms were strong and secure around her, and she missed being held, missed the physical contact that had been part of her everyday life.

She wouldn't have understood why he suddenly shoved her away, but she was too wrapped up in her emotions to feel the firmness in the gesture.

"I miss you too, in all this," she reiterated the sentiment again, wanting him to understand.

And Tristan felt something come to him in a moment of clarity; whether it was reality or not, truthful or not, it felt that way to him, like some accepted truth he couldn't avoid. If he gave in to her, if he played for her the role she wanted, he would end up fully stepping into his best friend's life. Taking everything he ever had, including his wife, and he couldn't do it. He just couldn't.

He felt like the most insensitive bastard in the world when he uttered the words, "I think you should go."

* * *

For the first time since college, Tristan Dugrey got pissed-out-of-his-mind drunk. What made it even more pathetic was that he did it alone in his apartment, just him and a bottle of vodka. By the end of the night, it was two bottles of vodka. 

He hadn't meant to hurt her, that hadn't been his underlying intention. It's not as if he had stood there and thought _how can I make this situation even worse for her?_ But he had accomplished that feat all the same. He would never forget the look on her face when he had suggested she go, no matter how gentle he had made his tone. She had rushed from his office even when he called after her.

The first shot to numb the pain was easy, the second and third even easier. By the time he had gotten to the bottom of the bottle he had forgotten why he had hated the taste of vodka in college. But it didn't make him feel better; nothing short of jumping off a very tall building was going to make him feel better.

So, in his alcohol laden stupor he contemplated what the best course of action was at this point, both for his sake and for hers.

And he called a travel agent.

* * *

_A/N: Ok, assume Logan's mom is dead too, just to simplify matters, I don't really need extraneous characters. And Logan's sister lives in Europe now and couldn't make it back in time (and she's well off, has her own company, hated her dad too: why Logan didn't leave her part of the Huntzberger company in the will). There are no other major Huntzberger relatives._

_Sorry if some of this seemed abbreviated, I didn't want to wallow in their grieving._


	3. That Old Parable

**Title:** The Worst Guilt

Chapter 3: That Old Parable

**Rating: **Pg-13 for now, haven't decided exactly where it will go

**Disclaimer**: If I actually owned the show…ok, the dialogue wouldn't be as good, but the plots would be better this season.

**Summary**: Tory, not exactly AU, just future fic. Not a triangle fic. The plot is based VERY loosely on a book I read, so I can't take all the credit. Oh, and I'm making the corporate centre of the Huntzberger empire in New York. For any minor necessary plot points, see previous chapters.

_A/N1: Sorry about delay. Being home for the holidays was crazy, but here's a longer chapter. Actually, it might be a bit wordy in some places._

_A/N2: I had originally considered making this 2 chapters, not because of length but because of the obvious difference in subject between the first and second part, but since I didn't want to dwell on the first part too long, I put it all together._

* * *

"So, where are you off to?" the man in the seat beside him asked jovially, his port belly hanging out slightly from the Hawaiian shirt he was wearing. Tristan had already heard the story of how he and the missus (who was currently doped up on Gravol) were headed for their second honeymoon in Hawaii. 

Tristan pointedly ignored him, pretending the headphones he had put on deliberately just a few minutes ago were drowning the man out. The flight to Florida stretched out agonizingly long in front of him.

He closed his eyes, trying to nap, but all he could think of was Rory's voice on the phone when he had called her yesterday. Even the music in his ears couldn't drown out the sound of her voice.

"_You're what?" she said the words as if she couldn't understand what he had just told her._

"_I'm going down to Florida. My great-aunt Elizabeth moved down there a couple years ago. But I just got a call from her doctor; she's very sick and needs someone to take care of her. She's sort of estranged from the rest of the family, a little bit like me, so there's nobody else. I can't just leave her like that." He knew he was rambling slightly, knew that liars always added a little too much detail, but he couldn't stop._

"_I understand," but of course she didn't. She barely believed he might be telling the truth. He knew she was thinking that he was abandoning her but he wasn't, he was making the best choice for the both of them, even if she would never understand why. "I suppose I should be grateful you called to say goodbye," her words were slightly sarcastic._

_He had squeezed his eyes shut before replying, "In regards to the company, I feel horrible leaving at a time like this, but she's pretty much all I have left for family, I can't say no. I give you sole discretionary power to appoint whoever to take over," he was about to say 'in my absence', but had to accept he may be walking out forever by leaving. "I know you have your own job to worry about, but the company will go on, it always has." He realized after that it made it sound like he was calling only to talk about business matters._

"_We'll manage," was all Rory said briskly. "I hope everything goes well with….your aunt."_

_And then she had hung up, without another word on either side._

He just looked at the lights of New York, disappearing as they ascended rapidly, and thought about exactly what he was leaving behind.

* * *

Rory stood in the middle of the house she and Logan had shared, the phone still in her hand from her conversation with Tristan. Despite the cool tone she had worked hard to maintain over the phone, her chest was almost heaving with emotion as she breathed heavily. 

There was nobody save her in the house. Her mother had left for Stars Hollow earlier in the day. The silence stretched before her, endless.

Somehow she knew that she wasn't thinking clearly, but it didn't matter. All she could focus on was that everyone had left her. She was utterly alone, for the first time in her life, and she had never thought that this moment would come. Always before there had been someone there. Her mother, then Logan, and even her grandparents in between. There had even been Tristan, an integral part of it all. But none of that mattered now when she was standing there, utterly alone with nobody to fall back on.

In that moment she hated them all for leaving her, even though it wasn't like that. But strangely enough her anger wasn't focused on the two who had left willingly, it was focused on the one who had no choice. Even though her mother and Tristan had unwittingly triggered this meltdown, they weren't who she hated in that moment. All the anger she felt was at Logan.

"How could you leave me like this?" she demanded of the empty apartment, still filled with the essence of him. All the reminders she hadn't been able to bring herself to remove. Her mind wanted to believe she was only angry, and she didn't notice the tears streaming down her cheeks.

And then she wanted to remove any reminder of him, like she was a scorned wife; in that moment she didn't think she could stand being in the same room as anything that indicated he had ever been there. Because he had left her, alone, with no warning, when he had promised to be there for her forever. Even the thought of his toothbrush in their….her bedroom sink bothered her.

If she had been thinking with her normal logical and reasonable mind she would realize that this overreaction was what came with repressing emotions, bottling them up inside until they spilled out one day, magnified tenfold.

But she wasn't, she was grieving in an uninhibited way she hadn't allowed herself too yet.

She went around the apartment, destroying or throwing away everything that reminded her of him. Which, in their apartment, was nearly everything. Nothing escaped her notice, from the frying pan he had cooked her eggs with one morning to his alarm clock that she threw against the wall.

It was as she was poised to cut up her wedding dress that had been hidden in the back of their closet, tears streaming down her face, that she realized exactly what she was doing, and she set it gently away from her, putting the scissors on the table.

"I hate you," she muttered once again to the dead Logan who wouldn't even grace her with his presence, pathetically, trying to reclaim the anger that she had felt just moments before. It was an easier emotion to deal with than anything else.

Because in that moment, as she looked at the destroyed bedroom around her, the only person she hated was herself.

* * *

_**Four Years Later**_

Rory wanted a husband.

No, not a husband exactly, she was just used to thinking in the permanent sense. It was more than she wanted _someone_; the marriage aspect was not the essence of it.

She had been feeling this way for quite some time, but it was only in recent months that she had begun to admit it to herself. To acknowledge that traitorous little longing for what it was always seemed like she was dishonouring Logan's memory.

She supposed the desire not to be alone had been there all along. The first time she had noticed it was visiting her mother and Luke in Stars Hollow this summer. She had seen their _togetherness_, the only way she could thing of to describe it, and had felt a pang in her heart was she watched them. It had only escalated from there, with every couple she saw strolling in the park or the engagements section in the newspaper, culminating when she had been maid of honour at Paris' wedding.

It wasn't the same as just after Logan had died. She'd hated that adrift feeling then, had even resented the happy couples around her, but it wasn't the same. Any thoughts she had of ever being happy again revolved around thinking of him. She didn't know when exactly she had transitioned into imagining the possibility of someone else, but that thought was there now, and she couldn't escape it.

She had her friends, she had her family, she had her job, but she yearned for more than that again. It wasn't as if she was without human contact in her life. Lane came to visit fairly often, Paris lived in the city as well, and she had other more casual friends that she saw often. She spent every holiday back home with her mother and Luke, visited her grandparents, but when everyone else went to bed she was on her own again. There was nobody for her to belong to, nobody to belong to her. And then she always ended up back in her apartment, silent save for the television she always kept on to fill the void.

And now, all that she could think about was that life was passing her by, and if she didn't do something she'd die this way.

Alone.

She was still shy of 30, an awfully young age for such maudlin thoughts, but she knew she couldn't mourn Logan forever. In that first while it had seemed such a betrayal to him any time she laughed, or any time her thoughts strayed from him for more than a few minutes. She just felt so alone every time she had to go home to her empty apartment at night, or every time she had to go eat a meal alone in a restaurant. Living in a big city somehow made it all the worse, it was too easy to become just one in the crowd, noticed by nobody.

It wasn't that she was depressed; she had people who cared about her, and a job to immerse herself in every day. She had managed to find contentment in the life she had built after Logan's death. It was something she hadn't initially thought possible, but she had through trial and error found herself a place in the world. She was content, and could carry on this way if she chose, but she wasn't truly happy. She knew what happiness was, and wanted a chance to find it again.

She found enjoyment in her work. As much as she had hated Tristan for leaving, running the Huntzberger empire gave her a purpose in life, a calling. There had been nobody suited to taking over when Tristan had left, and with his departure she had controlling interest of the company entirely on her own. This wasn't what she had thought she'd be doing with her life, or what she had really wanted, but she couldn't just let the company go to ruin when it was her husband's legacy and bore his name. She knew the industry, and had found that she had more of an aptitude for the business aspect than she had thought.

Her traitorous mind pointed she was probably better at this than she was at being a reporter, even if she squashed that thought down. Even dead she didn't want Mitchum Huntzberger to have the satisfaction of being right; at least she took solace in the fact he was probably turning over in his grave seeing her run _his _company.

Tristan's leaving had devastated her, but once the shock of his leaving had worn off, she realized that her taking on this much responsibility had actually been the most precious gift he could bestow, even if he had never thought of it that way. It gave her something to do, an ultimate goal beyond wallowing in pity.

A reason to stop staring at the ceiling as she lay in bed, pretending_ he_ was beside her. She was able to work herself until she was too tired to keep sleep at bay.

So, she had friends, family, and a challenging and fulfilling job she was good at. Once she grieved for Logan, she should have been happy.

And she was, mostly.

She just didn't want to be alone anymore.

Nobody had ever mistaken Rory for a stupid girl. She knew that first and foremost she would have to date again. She would have to kiss another man. She would have to sleep with another man. She would have to love another man, because she couldn't accept less than that. And while the thought didn't bring her to grief like it might have even a year ago, it felt….strange.

And she accepted 'strangeness' was something she would have to get over.

It was time to get some new clothes. It wasn't as if she'd worn black for the past 4 years, but she couldn't remember the last time she had bought herself an outfit that actually made her feel like a woman. Business suits, or the sweats she wore around the apartment, did not constitute dating attire. She hadn't been that active socially, outside of intimate gatherings, and she knew that too had to change. She knew it had been too long when she actually blushed at the thought of wearing a scarlet dress she had seen in Sak's last week.

"Mrs. Huntzberger?" the slight knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and Janice, her assistant, peaked her head in the door, and she felt a little awkward at the use of her married name when she was even now contemplating dating again. "I have the quarterly reports you asked for."

"Thank you Janice," Rory replied gratefully, reaching her hand out for the pre-offered papers.

And she went back to work, but not before making a note in her day planner to go shopping that Saturday.

* * *

The lights around her were off when she exited her office; everybody else had gone home for the night. She could have left hours ago, but hated the thought of her empty apartment and had finished work that she should have delegated to Janice tomorrow. It was a common occurrence, her the last person in the office save for the cleaning staff and security guards. She did have a lot of work, but it was usually more an avoidance technique than anything. 

She stood waiting for the elevator, her fingers drumming restlessly on her briefcase. She noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye, someone entering the floor from the staircase, and she turned to give a cursory 'hello', assuming it was one of the security guards doing a sweep of the building.

But it wasn't, it was Tristan.

Tristan, who she hadn't seen for four years. Tristan, who hadn't written or called in four years. Any information she had learned about him was through Paris who he had kept in touch with. Oh, she had got an obligatory e-mail from him once in awhile, cc'd to the upper management of the company, but it hardly meant anything.

They both stared at each other in shock.

* * *

Tristan knew that his return to New York was well over due, but it had been remarkably easy to put off. What had become an excuse to leave for a few months had stretched into four long years. He had kept abreast of life in New York through Paris, and according to her, the company which had been his responsibility was thriving under Rory's management. He had never thought his leaving would force her to step into that role, but he should have foreseen it. He had nobody else in the city who was dependent on him in any way, and the rest seemed to be faring better with his absence. So, as he tried to convince himself every night, there was nothing to feel guilty about. 

It was true, he had spent the last four years in Florida where his great aunt Elizabeth had retired. She was the only one of the DuGrey clan who hadn't essentially disowned him, and she was the only one he could really stand. At the very least she was amusing in her bitterness towards her brother Janlan, his overbearing grandfather. But it wasn't to look after her while she was in ailing health, the old bitty would probably outlive him. It was an escape, plain and simple. Elizabeth hadn't asked any questions, just took him in at her condo while he looked for a temporary place of his own, which had turned into his home for four years.

But eventually he had come to the realization that he should have close to four years ago: one could only run from their life for so long. As he neared his fourth year in the warm climate of Miami, he realized that wasn't his life, not the way it was supposed to be. His time there had healed him in a way, gave him a sense of peace he might not have achieved had he had stayed in New York, but he had stretched it years past that. It brought him a sense of peace in that he could grieve Logan without having to spend every day living his life, but most of it helped in the knowledge that Rory wasn't just around the corner, tormenting him in wanting answers he couldn't give her, and his wants he could never fulfill.

Life wasn't better with thousands of miles between him and Rory, but it certainly was easier.

But it was past time to get back, past time to get some balls and suck it up. As much as he had needed this time in Florida, as much as he had actually come to love his great-aunt, it wasn't his life. Not there, where the closest friend he had to his age was above the age of eighty.

He'd have to face _her_ of course, there was no escaping that. He'd have to look at the face that taunted him endlessly, and try and be her friend. It was what she had wanted in that horrible time following Logan's death, and he couldn't give it to her because he was the biggest prick who ever lived.

Maybe now with the distance, and the ever healing constant of time, he could manage it. Somehow he knew that these four years wouldn't have changed how he felt; he had tried for years before to stop being in love with her, his estrangement wouldn't have changed that. But maybe now, when his grief wasn't so raw, he could be her friend without feeling like he was a thief, trying to steal something he had wanted for so long.

He didn't know what he was going to do in New York, he hadn't thought that far ahead. Not just in the immediate, but in the long term. Theoretically the job as CEO of the Huntzberger empire was his for the taking; he knew they had listed him as on 'compassionate leave' or some such nonsense when he went to stay with his "ailing" relative. But the job wasn't his anymore, it was Rory's. He felt some underlying guilt that she had given up writing for this, but it was what she had now; he knew her boss would never take her back after such an absence, and she hadn't been in the business long enough before to build a reputation.

So when the cab driver at the airport asked him where he wanted to go, he hadn't honestly known. Sure, a hotel was the most logical choice, but he wanted to go back to the office. He still had his security pass, technically he was on staff there. In some ways he wanted to see again what he had given up for the sake of getting some peace. If he had stayed there at that time, living the life that had been Logan's, he would never have been happy. But at the same time it had been his dream job, and he had to accept he could never get it back.

So that's how he found himself at the tall building in downtown New York. He could see the security guard startle as he read the name on Tristan's security pass, but he hadn't said anything beyond 'have a nice evening sir'. For some reason he had taken the stairs, wanting the physical exercise. He had left his bags at the security desk.

And that's how he found himself standing on the 20th floor, staring at the woman who he had spent the last 4 years avoiding.

"Tristan?" her voice was almost like a whisper the first time she uttered his name.

"Rory," he started, since he had to say something. And then he had no idea where to go from there. "What are you doing here?" he asked dumbly.

"I work here," her voice was a little sharper than she had intended, "And I'm not the one who is supposed to be in Florida. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Figured it was time to come home," he was satisfied at the attempt to make his voice sound as glib as it used to be.

Rory knew she was clutching at her briefcase as if her life depended on it, but she just didn't care. "You could have called….written….something." Belatedly she realized she should have inquired about 'great-aunt Elizabeth', but she somehow doubted the woman's very existence.

When he had called her before he left, she had known he was lying, she knew him that well. As much as his leaving hurt her, what had really hurt was not knowing why he was leaving. She had always figured it was somehow her fault, something she had done or said. She knew she had hurt him the last time they had seen each other, but she had apologized, and thought he had understood.

"To you?" he raised an eyebrow. He hadn't talked to her in four years. He had tried calling once, more out of obligation than anything else, and she hadn't answered, having mastered the art of call screening.

"To anyone," was all she replied. "Someone would have picked you up at the airport at least."

It seemed absurd that this was the type of conversation they would have after all this time. When Tristan had pictured his homecoming, this was not how it had gone. Actually, he didn't know what he had expected, but this inane conversation was not it.

"So what _are_ you doing here?" she cleared her throat.

He didn't know if she meant New York in general, or at the office building. "Aunt Elizabeth is better now," of course she had never been sick, despite the fact he had made it sound like she was at death's door four years ago, "She doesn't need me anymore, and I knew it was time to come home."

They both stood there in silence for what seemed like an eternity, before she finally said, "It's good to have you back."

"Thank you," he replied cautiously, "It's good to be back in New York, I hadn't realized how much I missed it."

"It's been a long time," she said awkwardly, as if in explanation.

"I know, four years I believe."

It wasn't supposed to be this awkward. This was Tristan. He had been one of her closest friends for so long, it wasn't supposed to be so hard to be in his presence. They had parted on bad terms, but that had been at the worst time in both of their lives. She, at least, had been in pain then, lashing out like a wounded animal. It wasn't supposed to be this awkward now. Whenever she pictured their reunion, it wasn't like this.

When he had first left she had been angry, the reality of a sick aunt irrelevant. But she had come to realize her feeling for the selfishness that it was. Even if he didn't have a sick aunt, even if he was lying through his teeth, it was his life, and he felt leaving was something he had to do. He wouldn't stay away forever, she had known that, and every day she had hoped for him to come back so they could rebuild something between them.

"You'll be wanting to get back to work soon?" she asked, making the question all business when in truth they should have at least continued with the pleasantries for awhile. "As I'm sure you heard, I stepped in during your absence. Everything will be in order when you take up your position again." Even if she had no idea what she'd do now, without the hassle of her job to take up her days.

"I'm not back to take your job Rory," he replied gently. "I just….I don't really know why I came here tonight, but it wasn't because I expect to come back. I knew what I would be giving up when I walked away four years ago."

"Nonsense," she tried to make her voice firm, "The job is yours, it always has been. It was what Logan wanted. I just took over when there was no other choice. And you did what you had to do." Sick relative, time away, it was what he had had to do. Sometimes she wished she had had that luxury at the time.

Tristan shook his head; the job was not what he wanted, but tonight was not the time to discuss it, not like this. "Let's talk about this later Rory."

"Okay," she agreed dumbly. "You look good." She added the last part after a long hesitation. And it wasn't just that he looked good, he looked different. There were the obvious differences; lighter hair, the tanned skin from living in Florida. But that wasn't the main difference. Tristan, who had always seemed to comfortable in his own skin seemed almost…..nervous, and unsure.

"You too," the smirk that accompanied his reply was a pale shadow of what it used to be.

They were getting nowhere, she thought, talking like this. "Where are you staying?" He had subletted his apartment when he had left for Florida.

He shrugged, "I hadn't figured that part out yet."

"You'll stay with me," Rory told him firmly. She didn't know how much he had learned about her through Paris, "I've moved. I couldn't stay….anyway, I had to move. I'm actually in an apartment not far from where you used to live."

"You don't have to…." He began, but she cut him off. "Of course I do."

* * *

They spoke little until they got to her place, still not knowing quite what to say to one another. While everything seemed so similar, it had been so long, and things had changed for the both of them. 

He followed mutely behind her as she slid the key into her door and let them in. "Home sweet home," she said wryly, kicking off her high heels as she led him into the apartment.

They place was nice. It certainly wasn't the decadent house that she had lived in with Logan, but it still screamed 'money'. It was easier to come back here with her to a place that was obviously hers.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," he admitted as she flicked on all the lights. "I just came back….I haven't figured it out from there."

He knew she wanted to talk about the company, to talk about how he would be going back, but she held to the suggestion they leave that discussion for a later time. "You'll figure it out," she said simply. And then, as she walked over to him, she finally smiled in a way he hadn't seen her do in a long time, "And you can stay here as long as you need to," and she put her hand on his arm reassuringly.

It wasn't as if she had never touched him before, but Logan had always been there, the buffer between them, and he fought not to pull his arm away from under her simple touch. And then she was stepping away from him, releasing her hair from the tight arrangement it had been in from work, letting it cascade down her back as she headed to the kitchen, "You hungry?" she called back over her shoulder.

He shook his head before he realized she wasn't looking at him, "No."

Tristan had been deluded before when he thought that nothing about her had changed. There was something unexpectedly different, something that shook him. It was a sense about her – all in his mind, but that didn't make the feeling any less real. There was an air of availability about her in a way there hadn't been since high school, brought on the knowledge that Logan was well and truly gone, and the only thing stopping him from going after her was his own conscience.

It was amusing, in a pathetic and torturous sort of way.

She walked out of the kitchen, sipping from a juice box of all things, and motioned to a door right at the end of the hall to her right, "The guest bedroom is just right there if you want to toss your stuff in."

And she still had no idea that all he wanted to do was find her bedroom with her. She had no idea that there was a man standing not a few feet from her who wanted nothing more than to remove every layer of concealing clothing from her body and sink into her until they were both screaming. And then he wanted to have breakfast with her, marry her, and grow old with her.

_Fuck_, was all he could think. Four years was supposed to have stopped this.

"You okay?" she asked, concerned. He supposed his indecent thoughts had put a rather odd expression on his face.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, trying desperately to think about something else, anything else but the sight of her naked.

And again, they stood there in the awkward silence that seemed to hit them at every turn. "We need to talk you know," she said finally, "really talk." Not just for personal reasons, but for practical ones.

"I know," he replied in an almost weary tone fiddling with a coin in his pocket.

"I'm ordering Chinese takeout," she said suddenly. As she grabbed the menu from its honoured position on the coffee table, she assured him, "Don't worry, I'll get some lemon chicken."

Four years, and she still seemed to know about him than any other woman did.

She went into the kitchen to order, then came back out carrying two beers, and handed one to him, motioning for him to sit down as he continued to stand there like a jackass. They sat there for moment before she said rather suddenly, "I was rather angry with you for leaving."

An understatement if there ever was one.

Trust her to go with complete honesty than simply anger.

She was continuing, "I know you said….your aunt….and well, anyway, I didn't mean to feel that way. But I was really pissed at you for leaving."

"I'm sorry," the words were inadequate, but in truth he wouldn't have changed his actions. He had wanted to leave, he had _needed_ to leave. It might mean he was the biggest chicken-shit in the world, but he hadn't been ready and able to deal with everything. He knew Rory probably had little clue as to why he had left. She didn't know that he loved her, she didn't know how guilty he felt at the idea that he was just stepping into Logan's life. The feeling that he had caused it somehow by his traitorous thoughts. Under all that, he couldn't have ever been happy when there had been no time or space to just 'deal'.

But none of it was her fault, and she had been left feeling alone and abandoned by a person who should have been there for her in the worst time of her life. "I'm sorry." He said again.

She just nodded, having long since accepted his absence. "I'm sorry I never called," she told him awkwardly. "But I was angry for so long…and then it was too late…and, every time I thought about it all I could think of was the last time I had saw you and accused you of being so uncaring. So I decided just to leave you alone, and give you your space."

"My leaving had nothing to do with anything you did," he answered honestly. "Listen Rory, my aunt Elizabeth does live in Florida, and I did go to stay with her but….let's just say I didn't have to be there for four years. I know it makes no sense to you, but I needed that time. I'm not going to pretend to understand how hard it must have been for you that first while with Logan gone, he was your husband, but you have to understand, he was my best friend, and when I took over…..let's just leave it at I needed some time."

"I miss him, you know," her tone was wistful. It was the first time she had talked about him with anyone else in months. "We used to be so close, the three of us."

God he felt like a shit for leaving. "Yeah, we did."

She seemed to snap out of her reverie of past memories, "Listen, it's your first night back, let's not make this all depressing. Tell me all the exciting stories you must have from Florida."

Somehow he didn't think she meant the games of Canasta played with Elizabeth and her friends, "Come on _Mary_," he deliberately pulled out her old name from high school, "I don't think you're ready for that."

And she smiled, "Fine, have it your way. Save it until you can find one of your male friends to brag about your sexual prowess. But know this, if any of those girls who you left broken hearted in Florida come sniffing around New York for you, I require you find a hotel to conduct your 'reunion'."

Ah yes, back the role of consummate playboy. He hadn't been celibate for all the four years, but it had been close. Back to the role of shallow charmer. "Nah," he deliberately made his words drawl out, "I'll find a whole new bevy of females right here in the city."

And she laughed, like she always had when he made such comments. "You haven't changed Tristan."

"Nobody every really changes Rory," he lied, giving her what he hoped was a wolfish smile.

"It's good to have you back again," she told him. But then the light in her eyes dimmed just a little as she added – as if she needed to convince one of them, he wasn't sure which, "It really is."

* * *

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed. As someone else put in their story once, 'reviews are like crack to writers'._


	4. A New Way of Seeing Things

**Title:** The Worst Guilt

Chapter 4: A New Way of Looking at Things

**Rating: **Pg-13 for now, haven't decided exactly where it will go

**Disclaimer**: If I actually owned the show…ok, the dialogue wouldn't be as good, but the plots would be better this season. (I'd rant about Tues episode, but this isn't the place).

**Summary**: Tory, not exactly AU, just future fic. Not a triangle fic. The plot is based VERY loosely on a book I read, so I can't take all the credit. Oh, and I'm making the corporate centre of the Huntzberger empire in New York. For any minor necessary plot points, see previous chapters.

* * *

"My mother is coming to New York this weekend," Rory was saying to him as she came out into the living room, pulling on the jacket of her pantsuit. 

Tristan was up, and half awake, sitting on the couch. He hadn't been up this early in years – life in Florida hadn't exactly been fast paced; he hadn't seen dawn in a long time. But he had been woken up by her racing around the apartment to get ready, obviously used to being there all alone.

"I'm being evicted," he nodded in understanding.

"Oh, no," she looked surprised at his words, but in truth she hadn't realized he was staying in the very guestroom her mother usually stayed in, "Don't worry about that. I was just informing you as your presence will be something of a shock to her."

Better not to mention the lingering bitterness Lorelai held at Tristan's disappearance four years ago. She had been indignant on her daughter's behalf, expressing what Rory herself was never able to. It wasn't that she didn't love Tristan, she had, but to watch him abandon everything that was supposed to his responsibility and have it fall on Rory's shoulders when she was in the middle of grieving had not sat well with her.

"She'll be happy to see you," she told Tristan, hoping her words weren't a lie.

She also didn't mention the reason for Lorelai's spur of the moment visit, for that was really what it was. She had called her mother the previous afternoon, and had conveyed her need to 'get out on the dating scene' again, even if she hadn't expressed it so explicitly. Her mother was still her closest friend, and the only one she could really share the information with. And even if Lorelai didn't understand what a momentous decision this was for her, she understood a need for new clothes. And if there was something Lorelai Gilmore did well, it was shop – hence, the visit.

She had suggested he come in with her to the office today, get back into the swing of things, but he had protested again, reaffirming his intention to not take over her job. She had argued with him again, but he had just sighed and said they'd talk about it later. He promised however that he would come by and take her to lunch – might as well let everyone know he was back, he had friends and acquaintances there he had worked with for years. She couldn't remember the last time she had time for a real lunch break, but today she was making an exception for him.

She felt bad, not being able to house her mother here, but she'd put her up at the Plaza. Lorelai would love staying at the Plaza. Of course she'd pretend to be 'Eloise' the whole time, but that was half the fun. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she had money to do things like that if she wanted to.

"I have a spare set of keys in my desk drawer," she told him as she slipped on her shoes. "Help yourself to anything that you want, not that there's much here food or otherwise. And I really wish you'd come…."

"Not today Rory," he interjected firmly, spoiling the effect when he yawned loudly once again, and she smiled. "I'll come by around noon for lunch, is that allright?"

She nodded, "That should be good." Even if she had a million things to do, she'd make it work. "You still have your security pass and everything?" she knew he did, it was how he had gotten in the night before, but it was subtle reminder that he was to come up to her office, not wait on the street for her. He had been less enthusiastic about announcing his presence then she was, but she had insisted.

He nodded, acknowledging the reminder for what it was. "I'll see you then."

"See you later," she replied, checking her appearance quickly in the mirror before she let herself out the door.

"Bye," his word heard only by himself as the door slammed shut behind her.

* * *

Sound on the twentieth floor didn't stop the moment he stepped off the elevator, it just seemed like it. At least that's what Tristan told himself as he saw the shocked gazes of his former co-workers looking back at him. 

He stood awkwardly for a moment, not even sure which way to walk. It was a large floor, and he didn't even know which office was Rory's. He didn't know if she had taken over Logan's office or not.

"Tristan," one of those staring finally got over the shock and approached him. He recognized the man. John Silverman, the Chief Financial officer of the Huntzberger empire, with the company since nearly it's inception. "It's good to see you."

Tristan accepted the statement with a grain of salt. John was a bit of a dick, and a rather controlling one at that. The only reason he had gotten as far as he had in life was because Mitchum had taken a shine to the man. He could only thank God Rory had taken over as CEO instead of letting is pass to him. "Good to see you too John."

"How's your aunt? When did you get back?" John asked the questions rather stupidly, as if he had no idea which one he wanted the answer to more.

"She's managed a full recovery," Tristan lied, not wanting to discuss his personal life with the man. "I got back just last night in fact. I'm here to take Rory to lunch actually, we have plans."

When John nodded Tristan knew that this was in essence why Rory had wanted him to come up here to meet her. Not so much to announce he was back, that was easy to get out, but to illustrate the fact there was no discord between the two of them. There was going to be no struggle for power between the two of him now that he had returned.

"Where's her office?" Tristan finally asked, annoyed, when John still kept staring at him with his jaw dropped. His presence here was not that shocking.

"Last one on the left wall," John finally said, and Tristan left him standing there, mouth agape, as he made his way towards Rory's office.

He walked towards her office, aware of the fact that those in the cubicles that lined the middle of the room, and even those in the main offices, were staring at him like he had grown a second head. He realized it had been four years since he had disappeared rather suddenly, but this intense fascination they had with his presence was unsettling as he wasn't used to being the center of attention.

He paused for a moment outside what had used to be Logan's office. Somebody was just opening the door and going in; as he looked inside he could see that what used to be the most luxurious office on the floor had been modified into a glorified storage area. He forced himself to move on.

"I'm here for lunch with Mrs. Huntzberger," he told the woman who was manning the desk outside of Rory's office. He just assumed that was the name she was going by at work. "She's expecting me."

"Mr.Dugrey," the woman told him with a smile. "Welcome back." He didn't recognize her, but that didn't mean she hadn't been here four years ago. It was a big company, he wasn't going to pretend that he knew the name of everyone who worked there. "I'll let Mrs. Huntzberger know you're here. She's just finishing up on a conference call with the Chicago office." But then her phone rang, and she picked it up quickly.

Oh Christ, he hoped that didn't mean she'd take a long time. He didn't know what else to do except stand there, his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets as he tried to non-chalantly look around the room. Aesthetically, nothing had changed much.

Fortunately, it was only a moment before her office door opened and Rory came out, her face lighted up with a smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she apologized, even though he knew she was abandoning a lot of work just to have lunch with him.

"No problem," he forced a smile, still ill at ease from the experience of being back.

Her assistant hung up from the call she had taken, and cleared her throat quietly, trying to signal Rory's attention. "It's Mr. Yatagawa from Tokyo for you."

Rory nodded. The Japanese expansion had been her pet project this past year. The Huntzberger empire already controlled a significant portion of the newspaper industry in the United States, and she had realized expansion locally would serve no real purpose. She had decided on the need to assert some influence outside of the US, and had started slowly, buying controlling interests in a few key Japanese newspapers. "I have to take this," she told Tristan regretfully. "It won't take long." And he nodded in understanding.

With her gone her assistant turned to him with a twinkle in her eye, "Janice McEwen," she introduced herself as she held out her hand to him. "Sorry to be presumptuous before, it's just I remember you from your time here. I was however working in the accounting department at the time, so you probably have no idea who I am."

"Nice to meet you," he replied a little sheepishly, taking the offered hand.

"I hope everything is allright with your aunt," although it unnerved him that everyone in this place knew about his personal life, at least her query was filled with real concern.

"Aunt Elizabeth made full recovery," he found himself explaining once again. "She's well enough to stay alone now, so I figured it was time to come home." He contemplated taking out a billboard to that effect so he wouldn't be plagued with the same repeated question over and over.

Fortunately Janice didn't pursue the subject further. "It must be nice to be back in New York," she replied with a smile, obviously trying to keep him occupied until her boss returned.

"There's no place quite like it," he answered honestly, even though he knew that city itself had no real influence at all on his feelings about returning.

Janice moved onto another topic however. "Rory knows everything about this place," she was saying, slipping from the formality she usually used in front of other employees and clients. The two women had worked closely enough over the last four years to be well acquainted. Her voice was filled with intense pride as she told him about the Japanese expansion. He was surprised at the end when she added, "You'll find things running better than ever when you come back to work."

So Rory wasn't the only one who was under the impression he would be taking over right where he left off. Although he wasn't sure if it was because Janice herself assumed he would be returning, or if Rory had instructed her that he would.

But that wasn't something to be explored right then. "I'm sure things are running just fine," he told the woman smoothly. Might as well enhance that whole 'no discord' thing Rory was intent on showing the rest of the company. "I never would have been able to leave to take care of Aunt Elizabeth if I hadn't known there would be someone capable of doing such an excellent job. Rory's done more for this company that I could have ever imagined doing. " Of course he hadn't known she'd take over, but it was obviously the right outcome.

But by the time he was concluding his little speech Rory had returned from her office. "Nonsense," she replied with a blush. "I haven't done anything spectacular."

"She really can't take a compliment," her told her assistant in a conspiratorial tone he often used with woman, winking at her as he smiled. And, although it reeked of arrogance, he could see the lust forming in the woman's eyes. "Now you Janice, you look like a woman who could take a compliment…."

He ignored Rory's eye roll as she turned to her assistant. "I'm taking a long lunch Janice. If something crucial comes up I have my cell."

"Yes Mrs. Huntzberger," the woman replied dutifully, blushing a little as she stared at Tristan as they walked away.

Tristan took note of the not so discrete stares still fixated on them as they walked to the elevators, even if Rory didn't.

"You're incorrigible," she hissed good naturedly as they finally stood in the elevator. "For God's sake, leave my assistant alone."

He grinned at her. This was good, he decided. They could fall back into their old roles and habits, and he could pretend nothing had changed. He would go back to his playboy role, and she would go back to pretending it shocked her, and it would all be like it was before Logan died. Last night had been an aberration, seeing her for the first time in so long, and he hadn't been able to have the careful persona he usually adopted in place.

And it wasn't like it was all an act. He had habitually hit on girls for years, charming them into falling for him. Rory herself had quipped he had probably hit on the doctor who had delivered him. Of course it had never worked on the girls he really wanted; it had certainly never worked on her, not even in high school.

"I realize that most of them tend to love you," she was continuing on, lecturing him as if he were brain dead, "But remind yourself that when you come back, the last thing you want to have to deal with is a sexual harassment suit."

He had never hit on women who worked for him before; that was one line he would never cross. It hurt a little for her to think he would. But he supposed he had just started to hit on her assistant, even if he didn't view himself as the boss there anymore. "It won't be an issue," was all he said to reassure there, and tried to throw a playful noted into his voice, "It never is."

And she just rolled her eyes. "It's going to be madness now that you are back."

He looked at her, confused, and she gave a little snort. "Did you really think your reputation would fade just because you went away for a little while?"

"I don't think four years counts as a 'little while'," he qualified, "And…what reputation?"

She just shook her head. "Trust me Tristan, the woman of New York remember you. I suppose I tend to run into the same people as I don't get out much, but women still talk about you, you know."

He looked aghast at that, and muttered, "Not to you, I hope."

"Especially to me," she pointed out. "Of course it's not so much the 'interesting stories' I get to listen to though, no, it's the endless queries as to how you're doing, and when you're planning to come back. Hopefully now that you're back and woman can throw yourselves directly, I won't have to act as the go between."

"I'm not _that _bad," he insisted.

"Aren't you?" she asked the rhetorical question with a shrug of her shoulders.

With that he was speechless. It wasn't as if this was the first time they had had this conversation. She had berated him on what she termed his 'womanizing' countless times before, but he thought it had always been in jest. But now there was an edge to her voice, a jab that hadn't been there before.

As the elevator doors opened in front of them, he had no idea how to respond.

* * *

It was somewhere between the time the waiter had come to take their drink orders and the time the salad came that Rory began to fidget. She knew she had to talk to Tristan, at least generally, about her decision to date again. Not because he had a right to judge her personal life, but because he was about the only one who might see her decision to 'get out there' again as a betrayal of Logan. 

But she was never one for subtlety.

Or good timing.

"I want a husband," she blurted out the words as the waiter set down there salads in front of them, and the poor man made a hasty retreat.

"Sorry?" she had shocked the hell out of him, he had almost spit out the sip of water he had just taken. She hadn't said the words to elicit this sort of reaction, but it was sort of satisfying in a way to see him taken so off-guard, like a deer caught in the headlights, his jaw practically sitting on the table.

"I'm going to start dating again," she shrugged in what she hoped was carefree manner as she speared a piece of lettuce with her fork. "Is there something so odd in that?"

He mouth opened and shut a couple times before he replied cautiously, "Well….no….."

"I'm twenty-eight." She interjected. "I'll be twenty-nine soon."

He was well aware of how old she was, but his brain wasn't functioning quite perfectly after her blatant announcement. "So?" he thought that was the word he had choked out.

"Logan's been dead for four years," her voice hitched a little at that statement, but she kept on going. "I'm not so old that I can't still have a husband, can't still have children."

"Of course not," he agreed with her, not knowing what his role in this conversation was.

"And I shouldn't have to explain myself to you!" her voice was annoyed as she made the statement.

"I wasn't asking you to!" he exclaimed, knowing he was looking at her as if she had grown two heads, all the while wondering what had happened to the logical person who used to be Rory Gilmore.

She was immediately contrite, "Sorry, I didn't mean to overreact like that," she rested her hand on his across the table, and he fought the urge to snatch his away as if burned, "It's just, this is so hard to talk to you about."

"What's going on Rory?" he guiltily let his fingers intertwine with hers.

"I can't mourn Logan forever," she replied. "I mean, I _can_, and I _will_, but…" she stopped for a moment, hating that she was close to sobbing the middle of her favourite restaurant, "I can't live my life like this forever."

Then she said that statement that cut into him like a knife, "I'm just….so lonely."

Her loneliness had nothing to do with him directly. In fact, even if he had been here she would have still felt that emptiness when she came home at night, but Tristan didn't realize that, and he let guilt overtake him.

"Rory…" he began, but wasn't sure how to finish what he was going to say.

Rory meanwhile was sitting there mortified. When she said it like that, it sounded so selfish, so stupid. But Tristan was still clutching her hand gently, he hadn't pulled away in shock, so she didn't feel the immediate need to go throw herself off a cliff. "It seems like I'm betraying his memory by even considering it….." Tristan had been Logan's closest friend in the whole world, she couldn't bear it if he blamed her for wanting something more.

"It's been four years Rory," she heard his words, filled with no condemnation, and she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "You're not betraying his memory by considering dating again. He wouldn't have wanted you to live like a nun for the rest of your life."

He squeezed her hand tighter as he continued. His reassurances had nothing to do with furthering his own agenda, he had sworn that he would never act on his feelings, it had everything to do with reassuring her because she seemed convinced he would look down on her for not grieving Logan forever. "He would have wanted you to be happy," he told her softly, trying to give her that absolution Logan himself wasn't there to give her.

Not caring where they were he shuffled his chair around the table so he was sitting closer to her, not releasing her hand the whole time. "There's nothing to feel guilty about," his words were gentle as he put a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know how to move on," she replied desperately, "But I have to change something, because…….."

And then the weirdest thing happened. Well, maybe weird wasn't the word for it, not an adequate adjective to describe the feeling as if she had been punched in the stomach, unable to breath properly.

Because as she was speaking she had turned to Tristan. There was nothing odd in that, she had probably done it a million times before. It should have been a simple thing. He might have been gone for four years, but she knew his hair, she knew his smile, she even knew his scent; in short, she knew everything about him….except this time it was different.

Not that he was so close to her; although unexpected, it had happened before. It was in what she noticed when she stared up at him. She knew his eyes were blue, but she had never really noticed the little flecks in them before, the little movements as his iris expanded and contracted. She had never expected her eyes to drop to his lips that were not that far from hers. She knew what their appearance was, sure, but she had never really _looked_ at them. Even when he had kissed her cheek in the past she had never dwelled on what they really felt like; not until today.

"I have to go," she said rather stupidly, shooting to her feet.

He looked incredulous, "Now? We just got here. I know you're CEO Rory, but even you need to eat….."

"It's not that, I forgot about a meeting I have at one," she lied quickly; fortunately he didn't appear to realize that if Janice was even a half-capable assistant she would have reminded Rory of the meeting before she left for lunch.

He looked unconvinced, but nodded all the same, "I'll go get the cheque," he told her, standing up from the table to find their absent waiter, but then he paused. "Are you allright?" she knew she was acting out of sorts, and could almost feel the red in her cheeks.

"Just fine," she tried to assure him, but knew the tone wouldn't fool even a simpleton, so she added more carefully. "I'm fine, really, it's just I don't want to be late for the meeting." He knew enough of her fixation with responsibility to know that to be true. And when he nodded and went to find their waiter, she let out a deep breath. She couldn't let him know what had transpired in her rather twisted mind when he had been simply comforting her.

She had always known Tristan was handsome, or rather 'hot' as her mother termed it. But it was more an abstract sort of knowledge. She had brown hair, the sun rose in the east, the sky was blue, and Tristan was handsome. It had never been something she had dwelled on. He was_ Tristan_, her and her husband's friend, no matter how many times he had hit on her in high school.

But all of a sudden…..just now…she'd looked at him and seen something entirely new.

She'd seen a _man_.

And it scared the living shit out of her.

* * *

_Sorry it's so short. It didn't seem this short when I wrote it, and then I saw the word count……_


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